


Tell the Sun to Stop Burning

by spn1dneedit



Series: The Art of Being Us (and Messing it up) [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, OT7, Poly!Losers, Polyamory, Riding, Suicide Attempt, movie not book canon, none of them remember derry except mike, stan centric, very light D/s undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 10:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20673521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spn1dneedit/pseuds/spn1dneedit
Summary: Twenty seven years after an event he doesn't remember, Stanley Uris has a nightmare that brings dread like he's never known into his life. Fear beats down on him like the summer sun as he tries to bear it alone. Luckily, there's six people around him that won't let him burn.





	Tell the Sun to Stop Burning

**Author's Note:**

> my first It fic, mostly written as a distraction from my unfinished queen fic and as a love letter to Stan because y'all don't give my boy enough credit.

2016 (40)

The first time Stan Uris goes to a temple in almost twenty years, it’s because of a nightmare. It’s pitch black when he opens his eyes, gasping around a scream. Red dots float in the darkness like the remnants of a popped balloon. His heart beats so fast in his chest he feels like it might break through his ribs and explode right in front of him.

There are so many body parts touching Stan, in so many places, it makes him want to scream. It takes a few minutes of tedious work to untangle himself from the giant human knot his partners form every night in their sleep, but the need to get out claws at him. The walls close in, claustrophobia rising, and even though Stan knows the leg hooked around his own belongs to one of his partners of over twenty years, Richie Tozier, he can’t stand another second of being touched, by anyone or anything.

Stan feels dizzy and confused when he stands up, the red dots focusing and blurring beyond his vision. He barely knows where he’s going, down the stairs, out of their house, into his car, and down the highway, until he gets there.

He parks his car just as dawn breaks behind the building, deep red that makes his pulse stutter with fear. Then he knows why he’s there.

“Shir Tikvah Synagogue” the placard reads. The synagogue, so much larger and foreboding than he remembers his own in Derry being. Not that he can remember much of what that one looked like, only the familiarity and quiet unease he’d felt while there.

Without thinking, Stan drops to his knees. He swears he hears the voice of the synagogue, or maybe it’s God, asking “Why come back now, after all this time?”

Stan presses his hands to the sidewalk, anchoring himself, and takes a shaky breath, “I don’t want to go back.”

“I can’t go back there. I don’t know why, I can’t remember. I had a dream, a nightmare. There was a clown and the woman and so much blood and then all of us were dead and I… I don’t know what it means, but you must. You know why I can’t go back, even if I don’t quite remember. Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it. I dreamt about it.” Hot tears fall down his cheek, but Stan doesn’t bother to wipe them.

“I need you to help us. Don’t make me go back. Don’t make any of us go back. I’ll come back to temple. I’ll come every day. I’ll read every holy book until I know them by heart. I’ll do anything, anything you want, just please keep us all safe from It.” Blinking away tears, Stan opens his eyes again and sits back on his heels.

His father used to say that the Almighty was always listening to prayers, but only answered those whose needed it the absolute most.

The angry red sky fades into a forgiving orange sunrise.

By the time Stan gets home Ben and Beverly are awake too, the early risers of the seven sat down at the kitchen island, sipping coffee and talking quietly to each other.

“Where the hell did you go this early?” Bev asks as soon as she sees him, eyebrow quirked, but lips downturned in genuine concern. Stan wishes he had an answer he wouldn’t feel ashamed about. He couldn’t tell any of them, least of all Bev, their ever brave Beverly, about asking a coward’s favor from someone he hasn't prayed to in years. The worst part is, he doesn’t think he could explain it if he tried.

“Just needed to clear my head.” He says instead.

“Next time you clear your head, you might want to think about wearing shoes, Honey.” Bev’s mouth tightens further as she looks down at his feet, and Stan feels a blush spreading on his cheeks.

“I didn’t even notice.” Looking down, Stan realizes how tired he is, how out of it he must be to leave the house without shoes so early in the morning and make a crazy deal with the one above.

“Hey, Stan, you doin’ alright?” Ben’s face matches the concern on Bev’s and Stan winces. He loves them, all of them, and knows Ben and Beverly can see all of the emotions behind even the most guarded faces. Still, Stan lies.

“I’m fine. Just had a weird night. Like I said, needed to clear my head.” Fundamentally, he knows none of them would judge him for being afraid. He knows they are all afraid of something. None of them went crawling on their knees to a religion they'd walked away from over two decades ago, though. None of them, he’s absolutely positive, would rather die than go back to Derry. Especially for a reason they can’t remember no matter how hard they try.

Stan’s not so sure of that about himself.

“Ok…” Ben and Bev share a look, “just… know we’re here when you wanna talk about what’s up. All of us are.”

Sweet Ben, so lovely, so kind. Stan smiles and walks over to them, presses a kiss to each of their foreheads, lingering a moment because he doesn’t want to let go.

“I know.”

On his way back up the stairs to bed, Stan contemplates his promise. Maybe every day was too much. He’ll go to temple once a week and read a section of the Torah every Sunday. It’s been years since he’s even picked up his Holy book, and it’d be weird to jump in fully right away.

Before he’s even settled himself back into bed, crawling up between Richie and Bill, the two men have both latched onto him, Richie’s legs possessively wrap around his and Bill’s arm tightens across his chest. Stan thinks of a world without this, without the cuddling and hugging and all the physical affection between the seven of them, and his chest tightens.

Outside, the sun blazes through the windows.

“Jesus fuck, the sun’s blinding me and I don’t even have my eyes open.” Richie’s sleep garbled voice makes Stan chuckle lightly to himself, despite the rising speed of his pulse. It’s that, the raging sun, that makes Stan decides to keep his promise, to every letter. If Hashem is real, and can make the sun rise and set as he chooses, then certainly, if Stan shows how devoted he is, he can keep him and the others safe. 

“I promise.” He whispers. He promises to go to Temple every week. To eat kosher. To read every holy text he can get his hands on. To observe the shabbat. To be good.

Shade casts the room. 

“Thank God.” Richie mumbles.

_Baruch Hashem _indeed.

Stan makes good on his promises to the Almighty. He always has.

Every Saturday he’s at temple. He sits in the pews with his head down and prays for the safety of himself and his lovers. The sun shines beautifully.

He starts eating Kosher. Giving up Starbucks, company provided lunches, and the bakery across from his office just about kills Stan, but it’s worth it. There hasn’t been a cloud in the sky in weeks.

Richie, Eddie, and Bill are most surprised when they find him reading The Talmud in the study. The three of them are the only one’s who really knew him before, while he still believed everything his dad ever said about the one above. Seeing Stan reading, face buried in a holy text and a yarmulke placed neatly on the back of his head, brings back memories they didn’t even knew they had.

“Since when did you decide to be a Jew again?” Richie asks one day, two weeks after the nightmare that started it all. He leans against the door of the study, arms crossed over his chest.

“I never stopped being a Jew.” Stan sits back on his heels. Richie barged in while he was praying.

Richie rolls his eyes and pushes off the door frame, “For like twenty years you took off your little hat, didn’t go to temple, and didn’t speak a word of Hebrew unless it was to your dad, so yeah, I’m pretty sure that counts as stopping being a Jew. But now, out of nowhere you’re going all the fucking time and won’t even drink coffee without knowing if it’s ‘kosher’, what gives?”

“Just because I stopped practicing doesn’t mean I stopped being Jewish.”

Another eye roll from Richie. Stan feels his cheeks heating in embarrassment. On one hand, he knows what Richie is saying and wants to tell him the truth, tell him and the others why he’s taken his faith back up so devoutly, on the other, Richie is being sort of a dick, and Stan is stubborn if nothing else.

“And what, you’ve decided to start practicing again?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason to get back in touch with my religion?” Stan stands up and faces Richie, both of them frowning at each other. He loves Richie, more than he can put into words or actions, but sometimes the love of Stan’s life is the most annoying person he’s ever interacted with.

“I mean, the last time you called up God you hadn’t even gone through puberty yet and were probably asking him when you’d get your first armpit hair so yeah, I’m pretty sure the big guy is going to want an explanation, and I do too. It’s been like twenty years, why now?”

Because something bad is coming. Stan wants to stay. Because we’re all going to die if I don’t. Because I made a promise.

“Because it’s been twenty seven years, actually.” Twenty seven years has nothing to do with anything, but once Stan’s said it, he knows it’s important.

“Stan, man, what the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Annoyance is clear in Richie’s voice, and Stan wishes he could explain, wishes he could tell Richie about the nightmare, and the looming dread, and the promise he made to keep them safe, but that he’s not sure from what.

“I don’t know.” He says instead.

“What does that even mean you don’t know? How can you not know why you decided to be a good little Jew again?”

“Because I don’t know! I know that I woke up one morning and all I could think about was that you, me, and everyone else was going to die. I know that the only place I feel safe now is the synagogue, but that I don’t really know why. I know that I promised I’d be better, be a ‘good little Jew’ again if he kept you safe, because your deaths felt so real to me. _My_ death felt so real to me, Richie. So yeah, I don’t really know what the hell is going on, or how I really feel, I just know that every fiber in my being is telling me that this is the only way to keep you safe!” Yelling was cathartic, letting it all out to Richie felt so good that even as the first tears fell from Stan’s eyes, he felt better than he had in two weeks.

“Hey! Guys! What’s going on in here?” Mike comes running into the study, looking between a silently crying Stan and a completely bewildered Richie.

“I’m not sure, but I think Stan is in the middle of a mental breakdown.”

“I’m not in the middle of a…” Honestly, though, Stan couldn’t tell if he was or not, and that scared him almost as much as the nightmare he’d had. “I’m not having a breakdown, I just… I had a weird dream a few weeks ago and have been freaking out ever since.”

“Sounds like a breakdown to me, man. You said we were all gonna die because you had a nightmare and stopped being Jewish twenty seven years ago. What the fuck, dude?” Richie gestures to Stan and then looks at Mike for confirmation, but Mike just stares at Stan.

“What happened in your dream, Stan?” Concerned eyes bore into his, and a sob breaks out of his throat. Of course Mike won’t tell him he’s crazy, of course his sweet love believes him.

“I don’t remember a lot of it,” He admits, and scratches the back of his head, brushing along the edge of his yarmulke, “Just that we were all back in Derry, and there was a clown, and we all died. There was so much red… Blood, I mean… So much blood. I don't know what, but something about it felt so real.” Stan avoids eye contact with either of them while he says it, looking down at their feet, and continues scratching the back of his head. When he finishes, he half expects both of them to laugh, to tell him it’s just a nightmare and that nightmares should just be forgotten, but he hears nothing. When he finally works up the courage to look up at them, Richie has an unreadable expression on, but Mike looks scared shitless.

“You just had the one dream?” He asks, and reaches up to brush the tears from Stan’s cheek, which he can’t help but nuzzle into a bit.

He nods softly, “Just once… But ever since then I’ve had this feeling like danger is just around the corner, like whatever my dream was about is going to happen any minute.”

“Jesus, Stan.” Richie breathes out, the same expression unwavering. Mike continues brushing the pad of his thumb over Stan’s cheek, scared look changing to sympathy.

“I think I know a little bit about why you’re feeling like that, but I think it’s more of a family meeting thing to share. Is it alright if we go down to the living room and I can explain a bit more?” Richie’s face finally changes, and shock covers his features, while Stan just stands confused for a moment. What could his nightmares have to do with any of them, and why would Mike know anything about it? All the same, he reaches up and grabs Mike’s hand from his face and holds it in his own, then nods.

“Alright, I’ll grab the others, you meet us in the living room. Grab a glass of water and cool down, too, you’re alright now.” Mike pulls his hand away from Stan and walks back down the hallway to gather the others, Richie on his heels.

“Since when does Stan having a nightmare constitute a family meeting? I had a nightmare last night! Jessica Simpson told me I was a nobody that isn’t funny! Are we gonna have a meeting about that, too? I woke up in a cold sweat! Can you imagine? Being called a nobody that isn’t funny by a nobody that isn’t funny?” Stan doesn’t hear Mike respond. He hopes he doesn’t.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually everyone is sitting in the living room. Ben still sweaty from doing whatever work he was doing in the garage, and Bev’s work glasses, the one’s she claims she doesn’t actually need, sit atop her head. She must have been interrupted in the middle of the project.

“Alright. I called this family meeting because there’s something I need to tell you guys about. My plan wasn’t really to say anything until the time came, but Stan’s been kind of going through it, so I figured sooner rather than later is how it needs to happen.” Mike starts, and even though his problem is the one that started it all, Stan feels just as in the dark as everyone else. Mike shifts his weight from foot to foot nervously, apologetically maybe. Stan can’t tell.

“Does this have anything to do with Stan being Jewish again?” Eddie asks.

“I never stopped being Jewish.” Stan mutters, rolling his eyes.

Mike just goes on, “Yes, a little, but it’s bigger than that. Stan had a nightmare, and that’s why he’s gotten back into his faith, but _why_ he had the nightmare, that’s why we’re having the meeting.”

“Stan, you’ve been having nightmares?” Ben crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. Stan can feel his cheeks heat at the attention.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, “I just had the one, but it’s been freaking me out ever since.”

“What happened in your dream that made it this big of a deal?” Ben presses further.

Stan looks up at Mike, for support or just to see him, Stan isn’t sure, but Mike gives him a reaffirming smile, pressing him to tell them all. “We were back in Derry, and I’m not sure what was happening, but there was a clown, and this painting my Dad had in his office, and there was so much blood I’m not sure what was happening but I do know that…” he trailed off, unable to face all of them and say out loud what he’d dreamt.

“We all died.” Bev says, and six pairs of eyes turn to her. She’s got her legs hugged to her chest now; arms locked around them. She reminds Stan so much of the way she looked twenty seven years ago that Stan remembers that before this very moment he couldn’t picture what any of them looked like before they left Derry.

“Bev, you had that dream too?” Mike whips around to face Bev on the other side of the room, but she’s shaking her head, tears filling her eyes.

“Not that one. But every night, for weeks, I’ve had dreams of each of us dying. Never all in the same dream, but every night I see it. We all die soon, and we all die alone.” She’s crying by the time she finishes the sentence, and Bill reaches over to hold her as tears fall. Now, everybody shares the same, scared expression.

“What the fuck, guys? You both see us all dying in freaky premonitions and don’t bother to tell us? I, for one, would like to know how I’m going to die, so that I can avoid it at all costs.” Richie tries to hide the fear in his voice, but it’s more than obvious in his face.

“Has anyone else been having dreams like that?” It hadn’t even occurred to Stan, before Bev confessed about her dreams, and Mike asked the question. It hadn’t crossed his mind even once that the rest of them might feel the same way, that they might also feel the suffocating dread.

None of them raise their hand or say anything, though. Not even Bill, who’d dreamt of Georgie almost every night for ten years. It’s hard for Stan to decide whether it’s a good or bad thing, for the loves of his life to be spared the horror that flashes in the back of his head every time he closes his eyes, but that his nightmare experience truly is singular and his own to bear.

Except Beverly. Beverly had a dream like his. Beverly had them every night and didn’t say anything.

“What does it mean, though?” Bill rubs his thumb along Bev’s shoulder as she shakes with silent sobs, and asks a question no one has the answer to.

“Do you guys remember why we all became friends?” Mike’s eyes scan over the room, and where Stan had been swimming in confusion, he feels suddenly grounded when they meet each other.

Stan’s mind searches for the answer Mike is looking for. Twenty seven years ago, why did they become friends? Everything before college blurs together. Stan can’t remember what school he went to, or what street he lived on, or when he met and became friends with his soulmates.

“Bowers.” Ben says, and it hits like a punch in the gut. When Stan looks around, he knows he’s not the only one, either. “Bowers was bullying me. I fell down a hill and you guys were there. Only Eddie, Richie, Bill, and Stan though. Bev and Mike weren’t there.” The words come out of Ben’s mouth as if he’s only just remembered what happened as he’s saying it. Stan’s fist clenches thinking about Bowers.

“The pharmacy. I met you guys at the pharmacy, you needed help stealing supplies to fix up Ben. And you’re right Ben, Mike wasn’t there.” Same story with Bev, she speaks slowly, unsure if the words are real or not. Her eyes are dry now, but wetness still lingers on her cheeks, a memory soon forgotten.

“So, if we met Ben at the bottom of some random hill, and Bev at the pharmacy, where did you come from, Mike?” The look on Mike’s face is so strange, Stan can’t even begin to figure it out when Eddie asks.

“Bowers, the same guy who was messing with Ben, was also after me. He cornered me one day. I think he was probably going to kill me. But you,” He points at Beverly and smiles, like it’s his proudest memory, “You threw a rock that hit him right in the forehead. Stunned him enough that I got away.”

“Damn Beverly, hero and savior of losers since the summer of eighty-nine.”

“Summer of eighty-nine, I’m surprised you remember that, Eddie.” The same peculiar look covers Mike’s face, and Stan knows Mike knows something the rest of them don’t, maybe everything they don’t.

“I’m not sure I even really do. It just came out. Jesus, Mike, what the fuck is happening?” Eddie had never been the calmest of them, but the manic edge to his voice digs deep into all of their hearts. They were all so confused. They didn’t have any memories of a time before they left Derry, only a massive blur and a few jarring images. The painting in his Dad’s office flashes in Stan’s head and he cringes further back into the couch.

“There’s a reason none of you remember anything about being in Derry. I’m not sure what it is, none of the people I’ve talked to know either. But something does happen. Once you leave Derry, your memories start to fade, and eventually you’re left with nothing.”

“Mike, what are you talking about? Who are you talking to and about w-w-what?” Seven identical intakes of breath. Twelve eyes flicking to the same person. Thousands of questions. No answers. One thought running through everyone’s heads.

Bill hadn’t stuttered in years. So many years, in fact, that none of them remembered he’d done it in the first place. Until now.

Mike clears his throat and starts again, “Twenty seven years ago, we all came together and fought against something. Something truly evil. But we won. You all moved away and forgot about it, but it comes back on a schedule, and this is the year.”

The scar on Stan’s right palm itches.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Mike? No offense, but maybe you’ve been reading too many horror novels at the library.” Richie sneers, but his hands pick nervously at Ben’s where they’re linked together

The itching turns into a low burn.

“He’s talking about I-I-I-It.”

Suddenly, Stan’s whole body is on fire.

Memories burn behind his eyes on a slideshow. It. It. It. The summer of eighty-nine. The clown. The Well House. It. It. It. It. Pennywise. Eddie’s broken arm. It. It. It. It. Beverly’s apartment. The sewers. It. It. It. It. It. Ben bleeding. It. It. It. It. The painting. Richie and Bill fighting. Bowers. Blood. Blood. Blood. It. It. It.

There are hands on him. They grab at his arms and pull them apart. One hand grabs his, a finger brushes his scar. It burns like acid. They don’t let go. They won’t let him go. He fights back and screams. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.

“Let me go!”

“Stan! Open your eyes, it’s just us.” Mike’s soothing voice calls him back. It’s fake, though. It’s all fake. It can’t be real. But it seems so real. It must be real. Mike’s voice in his ears and his strong fingers on Stan’s forearms.

Stan opens his eyes.

It.

No.

Them.

Six of them around him.

Riding bikes. Winning the rock fight. Them. Them. Them. Fixing up Ben. Cliff jumping. Them. Them. Them. Them. Them. Beating It. The blood oath. Them.

“I remember.” Stan chokes out. Mike lets go of his arms and takes a step back. The others crowd in. In his fit he must’ve fallen off the couch because the seven of them group hug on the ground. Richie and Bill tuck into his sides, arms circling around him. Eddie is practically in his lap, legs bracketing Stan’s hips as he lays his face in his neck. Bev kneels behind him and cradles his head close, scratching soothingly at his scalp. Ben is behind Bev. Mike behind Eddie. Stan tucked protectively in the middle.

They’re all crying. Stan can feel wetness on four three different spots on his shirt and in any other situation he’d be grossed out. There are loud sniffles coming from all over, and he’s sure it would be driving Eddie nuts too, in any other situation.

“What’s going to happen?” He wonders.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Mike says, “We’ll all be okay.”

“You can’t promise that.” Stan says, his nightmare flashing through his mind again.

“Yes, I can. We’ll be okay because we’ll all be together. Just how it was last time.” Mike sounds so sure. He sounds so right. Stan almost believes him. “I know more now. When we go back to Derry, this time, it’ll be the end.”

The thing is. Stan isn’t going back to Derry.

He knows now, what the dread he felt was about. He remembers the horror that awaits them back in Maine. He isn’t going back. He can’t.

He can’t bring himself to tell the rest of them, though. He isn’t brave like them. He could never throw the first rock in a fight. He couldn’t face up to Pennywise with only a baseball bat and a quirky one-liner. There’s no way he’d stand up to a suffocating Mom. He’d never faced Bowers alone and gotten away. He could never lead the Losers. And he certainly was never brave enough to stay in Derry and carry the ultimate burden. Memory.

He can’t say that all, though. Can’t tell them how much of a coward he really is.

He says instead, “I’m not brave like you guys are.”

Richie pulls back from the hug and swats him on the back of the head. “Of course you are, idiot. I don’t know a single other person who could’ve stood up in front of a hundred people at their bar mitzvah and proclaimed themselves a loser and then walked out.”

Stan laughs, then sniffles a bit, “You remember that?”

“Yeah, man, I remember that… I think we all remember everything now.”

Stan feels Beverly’s lips mouth lightly at the top of his ear, breath tickling a bit. “You’re so brave, Stan. More than you know.”

“So smart, too.” Eddie says into his neck, then kisses the underside of his jaw.

“Love you so much, Stan.” He hears Ben above him, and just like that it’s all too much and not enough to Stan. He needs something. He needs everything. He needs to know everything there is to know, and forget it all again. He needs them.

“I need you.” He mumbles, low and shaky.

“W-w-we need you too, babe.” Bill takes Stan’s hand in his own and squeezes reassuringly. But that’s not the kind of reassurance Stan wants or needs. Not now, anyway.

“No, I _need_ you.” He repeats. Bill takes a breath in and lets go of his hand.

As soon as Bill breaks contact, Stan regrets what he said and reaches out for his hand again. Bill dodges his grab, and for a second Stan is confused, but then he feels it.

Bill’s fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt and splaying wide over his stomach, then reaching up further and pinching one of Stan’s nipples lightly. Stan keens at the feeling.

“L-l-like this?” He asks, as if Stan’s breathy moan wasn’t enough to encourage him.

“Guys, Bill and Stan are getting frisky in the middle of the group hug.” Richie fake-whines, then snickers. Stan turns his head to make sure Richie sees when he rolls his eyes, but Richie captures his lips in a kiss before he gets the chance.

The kiss breaks after a moment, as Eddie and Bill both try to get Stan’s shirt up and off of him.

“You sure you want to do this now?” Ben’s voice comes from behind, then he and Bev move, and all six of Stan’s lovers are watching him with careful eyes.

He nods. His is sure. So sure. He hasn’t been surer of anything in his life. He says as much.

“Alright then, Stan. Let us take care of you.” Ben lays a light hand on Stan’s chest, and pushes down. Once he’s on his back, Ben removes his hand.

Laying down, Stan can’t see anything that's happening, but he can hear movement. He props himself up on his elbows and watches the others. They make quick work of getting undressed, shucking shirts and pants anywhere they’ll go. Every so often one of them will press a quick to the other’s shoulders, or share a quick smile, but for the most part they remain focused. Focused on getting back to him.

Stan’s cheeks heat every time one of them looks at him and smiles.

“What do you want, Stan?” Beverly asks, standing naked in front of him. Stan’s eyes roam all over her body, the soft lines and supple curves he’s spent the last twenty years memorizing. She’s beautiful. All of the others are looking at her too, and Stan remembers that day they’d jumped from the cliff, how they’d all been staring as she sunbathed. Nothings changed, he thinks, smiling softly to himself.

“I want you.” He clears his throat. “I want all of you.”

“You’re a little old to go six rounds, babe.” Richie sits back on his heels. His dick half hard and his smile half there. Beverly was right, when she’d said it so long ago, Richie really did grow into his looks. It’s like seeing them all through new eyes now that he can remember what they looked like before. Richie takes Stan’s breath away. When he’s silent, Stan is half convinced he’s perfect.

“Don’t gotta go six rounds. I can multitask.” Eyebrows go up around the room. It’s been a while since they’ve done this. All together, that is. Richie’s right, they are older, and not in their twenties anymore, prepared to go for as many rounds as it takes for everybody to be satisfied. But now, right in this moment. Stan could do anything for them. Will do anything for the rest of them.

“You’re so good for us, Stan.” Mike approaches Stan first, crawling up between his spread legs and pressing his body down to cover Stan.

When they kiss, it’s everything Stan wants. With each press of Mike’s lips Stan forgets another reason he’s been worried. When one of Mike’s hands finds its way down his body and into his pants, Stan can’t find it in himself to care about anything else.

His pants are off in no time, underwear too, all while Mike kisses him languidly.

“Tell us what you need, Stan.” Mike parts from Stan’s mouth, and moves on to press open mouth kisses to his jaw instead. Stan’s head is too foggy to make any sort of dignified response, so he just opens his legs wider, thrusts lightly against Mike, and hopes he gets the point. He does.

“We need lube.” Mike says to the others. Stan almost comes just from seeing what they’re doing, his eyes focusing past Mike to the rest of them.

Ben and Bill are so into each other they don’t even break to acknowledge Mike’s said something. The way they make out reminds Stan of how they were as teens experimenting with each other. Excited and passionate. He remembers that too, now. They were each other’s first everything.

Bev, on the other side of the living room, has Eddie and Richie each attached to one of her breasts, mouthing hungrily at her nipples while fisting their own cocks. Richie pulls back at Mike’s words, then stands up on shaky legs. Bev groans softly at the loss.

“I got it.” Richie isn’t even fully out of sight in his quest for lube before Eddie repositions himself to be right in front of Beverly. With the new angle, he lets her tit fall out of his mouth, nipple bright red and stiff from the attention. Stan watches one of Eddie’s hands drop down her stomach. Mike comes back into view before he sees it happening, but Stan hears Bev’s high intake of breath and knows Eddie’s got a finger in her, working in and out as he thumbs her clit, like they all know she loves.

“Heads up, Mikey!” Stan thanks his lucky stars for Mike’s fast reflexes as his hand shoots out and grabs the flying bottle of lube Richie had just thrown at them. Anticipation fills his gut like a hot iron.

“You alright still?” Mike asks, coating a couple fingers. Stan feels drunk. Too drunk to answer. His limbs are heavy, and everything is moving in slow motion. His core burns. Everything is great. Everything would be perfect if Mike would start opening him up, he thinks, but it’s mostly Stan’s own fault because he can’t get his mouth to work.

He nods as earnestly as he can.

“I need a verbal from you, Stan. You good?” Mike is so good to him. So good to all of them. They learned it early on with Bev, to always ask for explicit consent from her, but Mike carried it over to all of them. Always made sure to take care of them always.

“I’m great.” Stan whispers, then adds, “This is exactly what I wanted.”

“Fucking Eddie took my spot.” Mike is circling the first finger around Stan’s rim when Richie interrupts them with a huff.

“Move your feet, lose your seat, dickhead.” Eddie teases, and makes no move to scooch over.

Mike’s forefinger finally sinks into Stan, and he has an idea.

“Richie, c’mere.” Stan’s voice sounds so foreign in his own ears, slurred and sloppy. “Mike, lemme get on my knees and then I can… I can multitask.”

Richie walks over and raises an eyebrow, “looks like you’re all covered here, Stan.”

“But you’re not.” Stan wants him so bad, wants all of them so bad.

“I’m all good. I can wait my turn. Looks like Mikey’s got you handled pretty well, anyway.”

Stan has a response ready, he swears, but when Mike pushes in another finger, all intelligent capacity leaves Stan’s brain at once. He’ll be embarrassed about it for years afterward, he’s sure, but in the moment, Stan can’t stop himself.

“My mouth, Richie. Take my mouth.”

“Oh.” Richie says.

“Oh.” Mike says.

“Oh!” Stan cries as Mike hits his prostate for the first time.

“No!” He says when Mike then promptly takes his fingers out.

The two other men chuckle together, and before Stan knows what’s happening, he’s flipped from his back to his stomach, and Mike is hauling him up to his hands and knees.

“Oh.”

“You’re going to be so fucking embarrassed once you come down,” Richie pets Stan’s cheek affectionately, looking down at Stan pressing needy, open mouth kisses down the length of his cock before taking it in.

Stan doesn’t care.

His whole world right now is Mike and Richie, Mike finishing up fingering him, and Richie just getting started fucking his mouth. It’s the most relaxed he’s felt in forever, though he can’t remember what made him so strung up in the first place, or why. It doesn't matter, he decides. All that matters is right in this room, in this moment.

Richie’s cock fills his mouth so nicely, and Stan, even after twenty years, would never say it out loud, but he’s pretty sure it’s his favorite to suck. It’s long and thick, but not long or thick enough that he’s choking on every thrust. It’s so good Stan craves it sometimes. Another thing he’ll never say.

Mike works his fingers so amazingly, it's beyond words. He opens Stan’s hole with practiced ease that has him on edge the entire time and when he takes them out, no one can blame Stan for forgetting fingering was the precursor for anything. Stan would take Mike’s fingers over ninety-nine percent of cock, and he’s sure so would the others. That’s why, when Mike finally removes his fingers, Stan is ready to cry in frustration.

“I got you, Stan. I got you.” Mike reassures when Stan starts to whine. Richie shudders above him, Stan knows from experience the vibrations make his cock buzz with pleasure.

When Mike finally pushes in, that’s when Stan really starts moaning. It’s so good. Everything he’d ever wanted in more. Mike’s cock pushing into his hole, making room for itself between Stan’s clenching walls sends sparks of pleasure so deep he can feel it in his spine.

Once he’s finally all the way in, stomach flush with Stan’s back, Mike stays still for a moment. Stan is torn between pushing forward onto Richie’s cock and back into Mike’s. He’s filled so good from both ends. He’s safe here, between them.

The power of Mike’s first real thrust pushes Stan all the way onto Richie, nose tickling Richie’s trimmed pubes as he cries out around his cock. Stan isn’t torn anymore. He can’t be. Not when Mike has it all figured out for him.

Richie reaches down and grasps at Stan’s hair, and Stan knows the sign. Richie is close. He puts his all into making Richie feel good, into making his lover come down his throat. He moans and slurps and uses the time Mike pulls out between strokes to tongue the head until Richie’s hand tightens in his hair and pushes him all the way down.

“Jesus fuck Stan!” Richie and Stan are always rougher with each other than anyone else. They both recognize each other’s need to sometimes be roughed up, and sometimes rough someone up. So when Richie yanks on his hair and fucks his mouth with absolutely no care for Stan’s comfort, he knows its more for Stan’s benefits than his own. Richie knows he needs this. To be used. To be taken care of.

“I’m gonna come. How does our boy want it? On your face or down your throat?” Stan starts to pull off to answer, though he isn’t cure what he’s going to say, but Richie uses his grasp on his hair to push Stan right back down. “Never mind. I’ve decided to not give you a choice.” Stan thinks for a second about biting his dick, but it occurs to him that he’d rather have Richie decide for him. He wants whatever Richie wants. Richie always knows what he wants before he wants it.

“C’mon Richie.” Mike warns, rubbing Stan’s hip with his thumb soothingly.

“He loves it.” Stan blinks up at Richie and finds Richie already smiling down at him, the very specific smile he saves for Stan during these moments. Their secret dynamic tucked into the seam of his lips. Richie pulls his cock out of Stan’s mouth. He jerks it a couple of times onto the other mans waiting lips. Stan let’s his eyes flutter close.

“I love it.” He says as the first rope of cum paints his face.

Mike’s thrusts speed up once Richie’s done coming. He pushes hard and fast into Stan, hitting his prostate so often Stan is crying in no time. His tears mix with Richie’s cum on his face, but he can’t bring himself to feel disgusted. It’s so good.

“Come in me, Mike. Fill me up, please.” Stan’s absolutely desperate for it, and completely unabashed in his need.

“I got you, Stan.” Mike says again, and thrusts once more before he’s coming too. Warmth floods Stan inside. It’s so perfect.

Mike doesn’t pull out for a while, just rubs Stan’s back as the three of them pant together. When he finally does, Stan can’t hold himself up for even a second, elbows slipping out from him and knees going weak.

Four hands are on him before he realizes fully what happened. Richie and Mike pull him up into a sitting position between the two of them, each keeping a protective hold on his arm. They hold him up and ground him all at once

“Fuck, Stan. You didn’t come?” Stan is wiping the come and dried tears off his face the best he can when Richie exclaims. He has to look down between his legs to make sure Richie isn’t fucking with him. Sure enough, his cock is hard between his legs, weeping and so deep pink it’s almost red.

“Guess not.” There was no need, he wants to say. You both got taken care of. I’m alright. I can wait. I want more.

“You want me to take care of it?” Ben asks as he and Bill walk over to where the three of them are. Stan’s endorphins are still running high, but he can feel the sleepiness starting to take over. If he really wants them all, he needs it to happen quickly.

Stan reaches out to Ben when they get close enough, yanks him down on the ground next to him, Richie, and Mike, then beckons to Bill too.

“I want you all.” Bill and Ben look at him with wide eyes. He can tell without looking Richie and Mike are too. Eddie and Bev are still on the other side of the room, in their own world, but Stan can only imagine the look they’d have on.

“You’re sh-sh-sure?” Bill asks. Stan loves them all. He really does. He just wishes they would stop asking him if he means what he says when he says it.

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah. I’m sure. Get in here and give me what I want.”

Richie chuckles beside him, “You’re quite the horndog today, Stan.” Stan huffs out a laugh too, but doesn’t try to rebut it.

“Come here, then.” Ben grabs both of Stan’s hands and pulls him in close. Ben kisses Stan the same way he did over twenty years ago, so gently and soft.

If there had to be one of them that didn’t change much from when they’d first met, he’s infinitely grateful it’s Ben. Sweet Ben. Perfect Ben. Soft Ben.

Ben who rubs up and down Stan’s back as they kiss. Ben who runs his other hand through Stan’s hair, carefully flicking dried cum away from his hairline. Ben who sucks on his lips and tongue until they’re numb. His Ben. Their Ben. Perfect Ben.

“Bill.” Is what he says when they break apart, though. Bill sits a little behind them, watching. “I want you in me.” It’s so cheesy, even through his lust clouded mind, Stan cringes after he’s said it, but when he looks back at Bill, he’s smiling.

“I can do that.” Stan can feel Mike’s come leaking out of his hole. It’s wet and a little gross feeling, but when Bill situates himself behind Stan and just presses in, he’s glad it’s there. Bill’s cock fills him with ease. Bill’s hand snakes up Stan’s chest for the second time that day and pinches one his nipples, flicking the sensitive bud as he begins to fuck him slowly.

As Bill fucks him, Stan and Ben don’t break eye contact. Usually, Stan hates being watched. Being watched by Ben is different. Ben looks at him with open awe, as if every moment he’s this close to Stan is a blessing, and he won’t even blink and miss a second of it. Stan feels wanted. Feels beautiful. Feels precious in a way only Ben can make him feel.

“I can take care of it, like I said.” Ben whispers, eyes flicking down to Stan’s bobbing cock between them. Tears prick at Stan’s eyes again, and he nods. They’re so good to him. First Mike and Richie. Now Ben and Bill. So good. Too good.

Ben’s hand wraps around his cock and Stan screams at the pleasure. It’s the first time he’s been touched that night and he knows now he won’t last much longer. Not as Bill fucks him like this. Not as Ben jerks him off and leans in to kiss him again.

As they’re kissing it occurs to Stan to return the favor, and he curses himself for thinking so slowly. He reaches out to steady himself with both hands on Ben’s shoulders, the rock of Bill’s hips making it hard to stay upright. He lets one hand falls down to Ben’s chest, over the hard pecs and abs. Ben shudders, and he almost pulls back, like Stan’s going to be disappointed by what he feels.

Stan remembers back when Ben was soft. He remembers the first time they made out and Ben wouldn’t let him touch his chest. He remembers how they all had to convince Ben of how much they loved him because of his body, not in spite of it. He remembers when Ben came back from college and Stan had to get used to laying his head on hard muscle instead of softness. Stan loves the abs, but feeling up and down Ben’s chest was never about them. It’s always about Ben.

His fingers flit over the deep ‘V’ above Ben’s pubic bone before reaching his cock. Ben’s cock is hard and weeping, as Stan knew it would be. It’s hot and thick in his hand, tough for even his long fingers to wrap all around. He jerks Ben in time with Bill’s thrusts into him, slow and languid for long moments at a time, then fast and jerky. Back and forth like he can’t decide.

It feels so good. All of it does. Too good. Too much. All at once.

“I’m coming! I’m coming! I’m coming!” Stan repeats it at least ten times, all while Bill fucks him and Ben keeps jerking until he’s shaking all over.

Once he’s done, he feels Bill start to come too. His thrusts stutter. He cries out loudly, then bites down into the crook of Stan’s neck. Beads of sweat drip onto Stan’s neck, though after a second thought he’s pretty sure it’s tears because Bill sniffles quietly.

Stan’s hand around Ben doesn’t stop once he and Bill come. He wouldn’t do that to Ben. He does speed up, though. Puts more thought into what he’s doing. Thumbs the slit. Sets a nice rhythm. After that it only takes about ten pulls and Ben’s coming into Stan’s hand.

Stan is dead tired when they’re done. Ben pulls out and again he’s boneless. He lays on the ground for a few long moments, the room buzzing around him.

Jarring claps alert him again, and Stan’s eyes blink open to Richie smiling affectionately at the three of them, “Stan the man, you really are a fucking nympho, aren’t you?”

“Shut up, Richie.” Is all he can muster.

“Looks like you guys wore Stan completely out.” Stan blinks again, finally opening his eyes fully after hearing Beverly. All six of his lovers sit around him.

“Yeah. He said he wanted all of us, but you just had to wear him out, didn’t you?” Eddie is joking, fake exasperation obvious in his voice, but the words hit Stan.

“Still want you.” He says.

Beverly smiles down at him and runs a hand through his hair, “Eddie was just kidding, hon. We took good care of each other. You just get some rest. The rest of us will clean up.”

Stan wishes he could do what Bev was telling him, he really does. But when he looks at her and her hard, rosy nipples, he knows he can’t. He needs her still. He needs Eddie still.

“I need you.” He looks at Eddie when he says it, and smirks when Eddie’s eyes widen.

“Bev is right. We’re all good.” Stan loves Eddie. Stan has spent the vast majority of his forty years on this planet with Eddie. He knows when he’s lying. And Eddie is lying right now.

“Please. Give me more.” He knows Eddie is lying, but he also knows Eddie won’t take any more from him unless he knows Stan wants it. Unless he knows Stan _needs_ it.

“You’re sure?” Eddie asks. For fucks sake.

“Yes I’m fucking sure.”

“Lay back, then.” Eddie’s eyes are dark and hungry as he approaches Stan. Stan’s heart beats fast in his chest. He starts to open his legs, giving room for Eddie, but the brunet shakes his head and throws a leg over Stan’s hips so he’s straddling him.

“If you can get it up, I’m gonna ride you. If you can’t, then we know it’s bedtime for you. Alright?” he asks, but before Stan has a chance to respond, he’s got a hand wrapped around Stan’s cock and it’s game over. Stan doesn’t even need to look at Eddie to see the surprise in his face at how fast Stan’s getting hard again. Hell, it even surprises himself.

It only takes about three minutes of Eddie’s movements for Stan to be ready, and at forty that must be some kind of record.

“Good job.” Eddie comments, and Stan can hear the smile in his voice. Eddie, Stan thinks, is the most changed, and somehow the least. He’s calmer now then he was back then. Still neurotic and a bit spastic, definitely a hypochondriac to the end, but Stan no longer feels the buzzing under his skin. Eddie no longer shakes in his own body as if clawing his way out. He talks fast, but doesn’t trip over his words. He’s everything he always was, but settled now. Adjusted. Now Eddie is who he was always meant to be. He’s theirs.

“C’mon Stan, meet me there.” He demands, slamming his hips down onto Stan. Stan, two minutes before would’ve told Eddie he was out of luck, that Stan was too tired to do anything but be along for the ride. He opens his eyes, though, and looks at Eddie. His eyes are rolled up to the ceiling, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks feverishly pink. He’s so beautiful it unlocks the last bit of energy Stan didn’t know he had. He thrusts up into Eddie. Eddie’s eyes snap open. He grins.

Stan feels it building. He’s going to come again soon. So is Eddie, he can feel it. Something is missing. Something pulls at him. He needs more. Something more. Someone more.

Stan’s eyes flick to Beverly, she’s watching them intently. One of her hands is behind her propping her up. The other is pumping two fingers in and out of herself. Stan knows what he needs.

“Bev, come here.” He calls, and smiles a bit when she looks back at him, caught. She crawls over to him silently, stops near his torso. He beckons her forward with a finger. He needs her soon. Eddie is getting close and shows no signs of stopping.

“Sit on my face.” Bev opens her mouth to say something, and Stan huffs, “_Yes_, I’m sure.”

It all falls together not long after. Eddie bounces on Stan’s cock like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. Bev rides his face to the point where Stan is almost suffocating, but he welcomes the stars in his vision. He’s making them feel good. He’s taking care of them. They’re taking care of him.

“Stan… Stan… Stan!” Bev’s hips move faster as he delves his tongue into her, laps at the wetness between her thighs greedily. It’s so hot between her legs Stan doesn’t ever want to be anywhere else.

Bev grinds her hips down once more, and then she’s contracting around his tongue. If Stan couldn’t breathe before, he definitely can’t now that Bev’s closed her thighs as tightly around his head as she can.

He thinks he hears Eddie cry out too, but it might be his imagination. There’s no imagining though, the way Eddie squeezes, contracts, and stutters around his cock. He keeps rocking after he comes, pushing him down on Stan’s cock with way more power than anyone who was as small of a kid as Eddie has any business having.

“C’mon Stan, let go. You’ve made us all feel good. It’s your turn baby.” Bev unclenches her thighs enough for Stan to hear what she’s saying above him. It almost doesn’t seem real. Is it really the end? Did he really do good?

“You’re so perfect.” Stan can hear Bill somewhere.

“You look so good.” Richie admits shyly.

“You did so well.” Ben tells him.

“You’re incredible.” Mike whispers.

“You’re fucking me so good, Stan.” Eddie breathes out.

Stan’s vision blacks out.

When he comes to, he’s being wiped down with a warm rag. He doesn’t open his eyes to see who. It doesn’t matter.

His mind still has a layer of fog, but it gets clearer every second. Despite how good he feels, how used in the best way, the underlying sense of dread he’d felt for weeks creeps back in, slowly, then all at once.

He remembers everything now.

They all remember.

He’s not going back to Derry; he knows that for sure.

He needs to go to the synagogue and pray again for their safety.

He needs to pray for a way out.

“I’m going to temple tomorrow.” He says to nobody, or to anyone who’s listening.

“We’ll all go with you.” Beverly says somewhere on the other side of the room.

Stan isn’t sure how he feels about the rest of them coming with him. He wants them to think he’s brave. If he goes tomorrow and prays for a cop out, he’s being a coward. He doesn’t want them to see him that way. On the other hand, he always wants the rest of the losers around. Every moment apart he’s missing a part of himself.

He doesn’t have much choice in the matter he realizes the next morning. He’s sometime in the night been transported to their bedroom, and is obviously the last one to wake up. The other six are all around him in various stages of getting ready.

“Glad you’re up, Stan. You should probably start getting ready. You usually leave in about fifteen minutes, so you don’t have long, but we thought we’d let you sleep until the last minute.” Mike smiles at him as Stan wipes sleep out of his eyes. “You did have an exhausting night.”

Stan can feel reminders of last night all over his body. His body aches all over. He’s sure he looks a mess too. It feels great though.

“What do you think, Stan, how about a throwback suit?” Richie steps into their room from the giant walk-in closet and Stan almost passes out. He’s wearing a powder blue suit. The same color as the one he wore to Stan’s bar mitzvah. Gone is the slow morning haze.

“It looks good.” He manages to choke out, hoping he isn’t too obviously panicking. It’s dumb, he knows, how panicked he is over seeing Richie in a blue suit. But it brought him back. Seeing Richie took Stan right back to the summer of eighty-nine. And not the good parts.

It brings back the part of the summer where they were apart. The part where they fought. The part where, if only for a moment, Pennywise wasn’t the enemy, Bill was. It brings back the loneliness. It brings back the fear. It brings back everything Stan spent all of last night trying to forget.

“Stan, you gotta hurry up. Eddie and I will drive, but even then, we can’t leave too late.” Bev reminds him gently.

“You guys all complain about my driving until we’re in a hurry! Then, it’s all ‘Eddie will drive’ and ‘Eddie go faster’. You guys are a bunch of hypocrites.” Eddie walks out of the closet with a bunch of clothes in hand, then tosses them on the bed, gesturing for Stan to put them on.

It takes every moral fiber in his being for Stan to get up and walk out of the house. The fear eats him alive. He can’t go back to Derry. He won’t go back to Derry. And their time is running out. He knows it now that he can recognize the fear. It’s been twenty-seven years and It’s coming back. If he goes to the synagogue, begs for a solution, and doesn’t get one, Stan isn’t sure what he’ll do.

“When we go back to Derry” Mike had said last night. Stan isn’t going back.

He gets into the front seat of one of their cars, next to Eddie, and buckles up. A voice in his head tells him not to. Maybe, if he doesn’t buckle, and Eddie gets into an accident, he’ll just die. He won’t have to be a coward then; it’ll have been an accident. He won’t have to choose between going back to that awful place and disappointing his loves.

Stan’s pulse races and he can feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead just thinking about it. He wipes them with his arm. When he looks at his sleeve, it isn’t sweat on its cuff, it’s blood. More of it drips down, covering his eyes and cheeks in red. It covers his nose and mouth, drips all over and Stan can’t breathe.

_It’s not real_, he thinks, tries to convince himself. _This isn’t actually happening. It can’t be. _Trying not to draw any attention, Stan flips down visor and checks himself in the mirror. He breathes out. No blood. No sweat. Nothing. His eyes are red, though.

For the rest of the ride, Stan keeps the visor down and periodically checks himself in the mirror. He’s glad he does it too, the sun is bright in front of them.

Once they’re there, sitting in the pews, Stan tunes out the service to focus on his own prayer.

_I’ve done everything I promised. I come every week. I’ve read through the Torah and Talmud. I eat kosher. I haven’t committed any sins. Please. Please don’t make me go back. Don’t make any of us go back. Keep us safe. Please, Hashem, keep us safe. _

The sun shines through the windows of the synagogue blindingly. Stan prays harder. He makes more promises. The sun continues to shine, unforgiving, unwavering. He asks if there’s anything he can do to not have to go, and to keep the rest of them safe.

In a matter of seconds clouds cover the sun in a thick haze. The congregation is plunged into darkness. Bill squeezes Stan’s hand on one side, Ben on the other.

Stan knows what he has to do. It becomes clear so suddenly, as fast as the clouds had come.

He isn’t afraid anymore.

That night, Stan again needs affection from the others. He holds Richie’s hand the whole way home from the synagogue and doesn’t let go until Richie makes a joke about his hands being sweaty. Later, they talk about all the best memories they have of each other. Stan finally says out loud how much he appreciates the ‘thing’ he and Richie have in the bedroom, and grins when Richie says he feels the same way, the secret in his lips finally untucked.

He kisses Ben for at least an hour as the rest of them make dinner. He tells him how much he loves and appreciates him. How the clubhouse was still the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him and the others. He cries just a bit and Ben kisses him again and tells Stan he’ll build him another club house. Stan smiles and cuddles closer.

Eddie sits next to him at dinner, and Stan’s eyes well with tears just being near him. Over thirty years together and Eddie still loves him. When Stan spends so much time just staring at Eddie everyone else notices he hasn’t eaten, he tells them all he doesn’t feel well. Eddie spouts off a list of possible illnesses Stan might have, and Stan just smiles and says he’ll go up to their room to sleep it off.

He doesn’t sleep, though. He goes up into the attic and looks at old photos. He gets stuck on one of him and Bill the school year before everything happened. It’s the two of them, standing side by side in front of Bill’s house as Georgie plays in the background. Stan stares at that photo for hours before Bill comes up to get him for bed.

Mike watches Stan as they get ready for bed. It almost makes Stan cry; how observant he is. Mike hugs him from behind as Stan is brushing his teeth and Stan can’t bear to look him in the eye because Mike will see. He’s always been able to look right through them. He lets Mike hold him like that long after he’s done, reveling in Mike’s warmth.

“Are you okay?” Bev asks Stan as they all pile into the California king bed they have. Stan does shed a small tear at that. He is okay. He’s great. He’s so happy he doesn’t know how to tell her. Stan just smiles and gets into bed behind her, spooning closely and pressing kisses to her hairline.

After they’ve all gone to sleep, Stan gets out of bed. It hurts to leave them. This is what he needs to do, he reminds himself. This is what He wants him to do.

He walks into one of the bathrooms downstairs and turns on the bath. As the water slowly fills up the tub, Stan thinks about his lovers. His losers. He thinks about sacrifices they’ve all made for each other, and how each one of them led to now, twenty seven years after they banded together. He thinks about what bravery is, and how all of them are braver than he is.

He gets into the tub.

He does the bravest thing he’s ever done.

As he’s going out, Stan remembers the day they’d made the promise to come back.

All seven of them stand in a circle. Stan feels tears on his cheeks and water lapping at his neck. The sun is so bright.

“I promise, Bill.” Stan says, facing the thirteen year old with the glass in his hand and the bright sun behind him. It almost looks like Bill has a halo. It’s too bright, and Stan closes his eyes.

When he opens his eyes again, it isn’t Bill he sees.

It’s Bev,

and she’s crying.

**Author's Note:**

> Plz leave comments/kudos!!! I want to write a sequel (a series?) that'll take place post chapter 2, but if i feel like I'm sending fics into the void that prolly won't happen
> 
> Also, tag says ambiguous ending but I promise Stan is not dead. I love him too much for that.


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